Chapter 24 #2
Theo looked at the letter, found the offensive sentence, processed Ellen’s observation, and nodded in agreement.
“Well, well, you are exactly right. I stand corrected. Thank you. And yes, my grammar leaves much to be desired.” He looked again at the letter.
“Yes, of course… the portrait is… of course.” He noted to himself that the woman had an educated mind, even if it was untethered.
And he chided himself for making assumptions about her in advance.
She spoke again with unfiltered abruptness. “Are you a foreigner?”
“I am, but I have lived in your country for many years. My home is now up north.”
“Atlanta is north of here. Are you documented?”
Theo nodded again, smiling and on the verge of laughter. “Yes, I’m documented.”
Ellen nodded at the space beside her. “Well, then, do you want to sit down? I know it’s hard for old people to stand up for very long.”
Theo chuckled, then stepped forward and sat beside Ellen, careful to leave some room between them.
He was about to ask her a question, hoping he might be able to steer their dialog in a somewhat coherent direction, but he was too slow.
“You look like a Jew,” she said, looking him full in the face. “So, I want to ask you something. Could Jesus eat pork? He was a Jew, you know. And people down here love barbecue.”
Theo did not make light of the question. He looked into the fountain, pondering his reply before responding with slow, deliberate words. “That… is… a very… interesting… question. I’ve never thought about it. What do you think? Could the Messiah eat pork?”
Her head wobbled at the ridiculousness of the question. “I think he could do anything he damn well pleased. You know who he was, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve read all about him and I—”
“But he could change things too. You do know he changed water into wine, don’t you? So, if he wanted to, he could pick up a piece of pork and change it to fish right before it went into his mouth. Or even while he was chewing it.”
Theo nodded in agreement and then attempted a diversionary turn.
“Ellen, thank you for coming to meet me. I just moved to Golden a few weeks ago, and I don’t know many people here yet, so I’m happy for the chance to make a new friend.”
Ellen blushed and smiled, a lazy grin under sleepy eyes. She sat up straight and patted her dress. “I’ve never gotten a handwritten letter before. Your penmanship is immaculate. The coffee man gave it to me.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Shep. He helped me out. Since I couldn’t find a mailing address, I didn’t know how to deliver it.”
Theo winced inwardly, afraid he might have inadvertently and rudely brought her homelessness into the conversation, but she appeared unbothered and gladly explained her situation.
“Well, I sort of live in different places, since I’m homeless. But sometimes I stay at the Mission. Are you from Israel?”
Theo’s laugh was audible this time. “No. Actually, I grew up in Portugal, in a small town near Porto.”
“They have Jews in Portugal?”
“No, no. I mean, yes, there are Jewish people in Portugal, and some are very dear to me, but I am not Jewish myself.”
“Well, then, do you go to a church building?”
“I do. In fact, you see that low steeple over there?” Theo pointed to the barely visible top of a spire a couple of blocks away. “Sometimes I go to that church building on Sunday mornings.” He had pointed at St. James, a landmark known for its opulent windows and ivy-covered exterior walls.
“That’s right next to the post office, isn’t it?” Ellen said. “I’ve never been inside there before. Have you read Eudora Welty?”
“I have indeed.” Theo did not make the connection until later that Mrs. Welty had written a popular story about a post office. “But Ellen, could you tell me a bit about your bicycle?”
She dropped her forehead again and tucked her chin into her chest, so she had to roll her eyes upward to look him in the face. She seemed somewhat offended.
“Mr. Theo, I hardly even know you. I’m sorry, but I can’t really trust you with my personal information yet.”
Theo placed his hand over his heart, supplicating her. “Oh, please forgive me. It was very inappropriate of me to ask a question like that. I’m so sorry.”
In response to Theo’s apology — Ellen was not used to such deference — her chin lifted, and her eyes relaxed.
“It’s really not that big a deal. And since you seem sort of lonely, I’ll just go ahead and tell you. My bicycle is called the ‘Noble Invention.’ Do you know William Saroyan?”
Theo frowned. “I don’t believe I do.”
“Well, he’s dead anyway. But you should know him. You look sort of like him except for his big mustache. He was a writer from California. He was Armenian.”
“Ah, yes, that William Saroyan.” Theo was struck by Ellen’s literacy and surmised, correctly, that books were her language, her neighborhood, her connection to reality.
“Well, Mr. Saroyan said ‘the bicycle is the noblest invention of man.’ And in ‘Rescue the Perishing,’ that story, the little boy did not want a new bicycle. He liked the one he had. It cost him $27.50 of his own money. Well, I don’t want a new bicycle either.
The Mission tried to give me one, some old thing made in China.
No, sir, don’t even think about it. I like mine perfectly fine.
Can you ride a bicycle, or are you too old? ”
Theo chuckled once again at her candor.
“Ellen, I will have you know that, as a boy, I rode my bicycle many times from Pinh?o to Lamego and once all the way from Pinh?o to Porto. It has been a long time, but maybe I should try again. Maybe you could teach me.”
Her eyes registered doubt. “Well… maybe. You’re pretty old, and I don’t want to get sued. Ambulance chasers are everywhere these days. Probably bicycle chasers too.”
Theo tsked three times before responding.
“Yes, that is a problem. But I promise not to sue you if something happens. How did you get your bicycle?”
“I found it at the Promenade. It was just lying there on the sidewalk, totally neglected. There was this skinny little kitten beside it too. I waited for an hour. I don’t know whose it was, but I said, ‘Well, if I’m going to take care of your cat, I’m taking your damn bicycle too.
’ When the kitten got bigger, it ran away. A dog would never do that.
“I’ve had the Noble Invention for ten years.
Every day for ten years, we’ve been together.
That’s longer than a lot of marriages. Everything I own is on my bike.
Travel light. Like Mother Teresa. Did you see ET?
He rode his bike all the way to heaven. That’s what I plan to do. Are you somebody important?”
With that, the weave and bob of their conversation continued.
No single line of thought held for more than a few sentences.
As soon as Theo thought they were on a similar wavelength, she would inject an altogether unrelated idea, at least from his perspective, and move into uncharted territory.
But he was neither frustrated nor unsettled by this tendency.
Not in the least. He accommodated, as best he could, whatever change of direction she proposed and accepted that he would have to learn about her in bits and pieces.
He did eventually get around to the portrait, which had been sitting on the bench between them as they talked.
“Ellen, I don’t mean to take so much of your time.”
“Don’t be sorry. I don’t have anywhere to be.”
“Well, here is the portrait that I promised you. Would you like to see it?”
She nodded hesitantly, bottom lip prominently forward. Her eyes were fixed on his hands as he unwrapped the picture. Paper gone, he rested the frame on his knee so that Ellen could see her likeness.
Her reaction at first was subdued, as if sizing up a strange dog to make sure it was safe. She gazed, tilted her head, and then smiled timidly, good-naturedly, satisfied the dog was nothing to be afraid of. She approved.
“Do you think it’s nice?” she asked.
“I do think the portrait, with all its details, is lovely.”
Ellen straightened up once again and patted her dress.
For a stretch of seconds, she sat with her hands on her knees, studying the face in the frame.
Theo held it out to her, and she accepted it with the gentleness of a mother receiving a child for the first time.
She continued to gaze, sometimes pulling it close to observe a detail, more than once touching the glass as if to feel skin, cheekbone, hair.
“Ellen, when I first saw your portrait, I asked myself, what is this person like? And I thought, she is a most interesting person. In her eyes…”
She immediately focused on that part of the drawing.
“In her eyes I saw someone who is wise and tested. I think she is very strong but very motherly too. Yes, very motherly.”
Ellen turned her face toward Theo, lowered her forehead again in what was obviously her gesture of thoughtfulness, and stared into his eyes. He continued speaking, trusting that some of what he said made sense and hoping that none of it offended her.
“I think that some people misunderstand her, but she is a good woman, a kind woman, a woman with a tender heart. She could be a saint, this woman. It is in her, I’m sure. This could quite possibly
be a portrait of St. Ellen of the Promenade. Do you like it?”
She nodded. Then she began to speak to an unidentified “you.” “Well, you always said I had a crooked nose. Here’s your proof, framed for all the world to see.”
Her shoulders shook with silent laughter.
A raindrop, and then another, fell onto the frame.
Ellen covered it quickly with the wrapping paper, reached for her bike, and grabbed a plastic bag, of which she had an abundance.
She wrapped the portrait carefully as Theo raised his umbrella over their heads.
The rain stopped after a few seconds, but the clouds remained heavy and threatening.
“Ellen, if you need to be somewhere, please don’t let me keep you too long.”
“Where would I need to be? I’m homeless.”